“I want all of it” – #WIPitUpWednesday Her Hero

Hi, everyone! Happy Wednesday! Today we’re so excited to give you all another peek into what we’ve been working on: Her Hero (Boston Doms, Book 6) which will be released THIS FRIDAY, April 28th!

Our heroine, Grace, is trying to convince Donnie that she can handle all of him… even his dark side.

“And what do you want, Grace?” he demanded.

She stared at him, unflinching.

“I want all of it. Every kinky thing you’ve ever done to another girl, I want you to do with me. Every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had in the dark of night that made you blush in the morning, everything you’ve ever tried to convince yourself that you shouldn’t want, that no nice girl would ever want, I want you to unleash on me. I want you to tie me up, strap me down, and show me how very, very good it can feel to hurt.”

Her words were a match that set fire to his blood. His cock strained against his jeans, his pulse beat a furious tempo in his brain. That was what she wanted? What she needed?

Nothing in life had ever come easily to Donnie. He’d never gotten anything that he didn’t have to fight and bleed for, and suddenly this woman, his woman, was saying that his every twisted fantasy was his for the taking… that he could have the beauty and the glory of Grace, and every depraved thing he craved, as well? He couldn’t make sense of it.

She simply didn’t understand what she was asking for.

But he’d show her.

I hope you guys are as excited as we are! If you want to know more about Donnie and Grace, check out our Her Hero page. And if you want to see what the other WIPpers are working on, check right here!

Read the First Chapter of Her Hero Now!

Chapter One


Donnie eased his Valkyrie to a smooth stop at a red light on Harbor Road and shifted his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension that always gripped his shoulders after hours spent on his bike.

Christ, what a perfect day. Unseasonably mild for April in New England, it was all warm sunshine and cool breezes that could have tempted even the most devoted workaholic to play hooky. And as much as he loved his job managing The Club South and overseeing the ongoing transformation of the dilapidated old firehouse into the premiere BDSM playhouse south of Boston, Donnie had never claimed to be that dedicated. Instead, he’d done what his boss, Master Blake, was always encouraging him to do, and he’d delegated, leaving the deliveries, the contractors, and the paperwork in the capable hands of his team while he escaped for the day to clear his head.

Donnie had been up at dawn with his saddlebags packed and his playlist loaded, letting a flip of the coin determine that north would be his direction for the day. He’d been on the road early enough to avoid all the rush hour traffic as he’d cruised from Quincy through Boston, sticking to the highways as far as the Maine border and then detouring for a slow, scenic ride up and down Route 1. Just him, his trusty Valk, and the rocky Atlantic coastline stretching as far as the eye could see. He’d grabbed an early dinner at a seafood shack that was nearly empty of tourists this early in the season, before heading back south. And now, as the last streaks of orange twilight lit the sky, he found himself only two blocks from the place he called home—a room above The Club with a view of the water and the Boston skyline, where a scalding hot shower awaited him. Anticipation and pleasure curled in his gut.

In a life where not a lot had gone right, let alone perfectly, Donnie Nolan knew better than to take this stuff for granted.

As he straddled the vibrating machine, appreciating the salty tang in the air and the crash of the waves just beyond the sea wall, a flash of light in his side mirror caught his attention. He watched with detached amusement as a giant fucking behemoth of a bike pulled onto the shoulder of the road, passing half a dozen cars, and coming to a stop beside Donnie. It was the kind of illegal, douchebag move that gave bikers everywhere a bad rep. Not content with his Asshole status, the guy then edged his bike forward in impatient bursts that had a mom yanking her toddler back from the crosswalk. He then leveled up to Fucking Asshole by revving his engine loud enough for the people standing outside the ice cream shop across the street to crane their heads and look for the source of the noise.

Jesus, what a fuckwit.

Donnie wouldn’t turn his head or give the guy the attention he was clearly asking for, but from behind his own full-coverage helmet, he could see that the other man had swiveled to look at him. Dude had long white hair tied back in a long tail, no helmet on his head, and a taunting smile on his face that got Donnie’s back up.

And that was before he started mouthing obscenities.

The guy was looking for trouble. A race? A fight? Who the fuck knew? And he was trying to goad Donnie into joining him. And for the briefest of seconds, Donnie almost allowed himself to be persuaded. He could imagine swinging his leg over his bike, throwing his helmet off, and decking the asshole. Donnie knew exactly how it would feel when the flesh and bone of his knuckles made contact with the other guy’s face, how the shock of the blow would reverberate up his arm to his shoulder, how all the rational processes of his brain would short-circuit, and a red haze would descend across his vision. He’d be a warrior once more, the tip of a spear, the chief leg-breaker in Mikey Nolan’s personal army, the instinct-driven animal he’d been trained to be. He almost craved the black-and-white simplicity of it. It’s him or me. Gotta fight, gotta win.

And then the light changed, sanity returned, and Donnie gestured the douchebag ahead with an ironic wave of his gloved hand. After you, motherfucker.

As the guy disappeared down the crowded street, weaving around stopped cars, Donnie slowly let out the clutch on his own bike, allowing himself to roll forward. He took a deep breath, forcing down the spike of adrenaline that made him want to chase after the other guy and teach him a lesson.

Not fucking worth it, he reminded himself. True strength lies in control.

He’d learned almost half a lifetime ago that when you let someone draw you into a fight, when you let them dictate the terms of a confrontation, you always lost, even when you won.

The Bluetooth speaker inside his helmet played out the first mournful notes of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Simple Man—the ringtone Donnie had assigned to his friend and mentor Blake Coleman. Donnie pushed away the last vestiges of his annoyance as he hit the button on his helmet to accept the call.

“Evening, boss,” he spoke into the mic as traffic crept along. He noticed with a smirk that his voice was raspy tonight, gravelly from disuse the way it always got when he’d spent the day alone on the road. Yeah, he’d paid a fair bit for a helmet that he could use to make and accept calls, but he could count on two hands the number of people who had his cell number, and even fewer he’d bother to talk to while he was riding. Blake was one of them.

“North or south?” Blake asked without preamble, amusement evident in his deep voice.

Donnie snorted. He hadn’t shared his plans with Blake this morning beyond a quick text to say that he’d be out-of-pocket for the day, but it didn’t surprise him that Blake already knew. Blake wouldn’t waste time asking stupid shit, like “What did you do today?” or “Did you have fun?” because the answers would be, “Riding,” and “Fuck, yeah.” Every single time.

“North,” Donnie replied, feeling a weird warmth in his chest that came from having someone know him that well and give a shit about his welfare. It was a feeling he wasn’t entirely used to, even after knowing Blake for more than a decade. The only other person who’d ever given him that feeling was Grace, and she was…

God. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of Grace in years, hadn’t allowed himself to fully conjure her face or imagine what her life might be like these days. But just when he thought he’d succeeded in scrubbing her from his thoughts, locking every cherished memory in a vault, her name would appear right in front of him, taunting him with what could never be.

He swallowed and forced himself to finish the thought. Grace was ancient history. A closed chapter. Another thing he’d been forced to leave behind.

“Knew it. Elena owes me,” Blake said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice that brought Donnie’s attention back to the present. “You headed west last time, and east the time before that. Figured it’d be north or south.”

Donnie snorted again. “Uh, boss, you know I toss a coin to decide this shit, right? Not exactly the kind of thing you wanna bet on?”

Blake’s chuckle was low and meaningful. “Only if I cared about losing this particular bet, Don.”


“Right,” Donnie said, rolling his eyes as he put on his blinker, pulled into the lot behind the three-story red brick building, and eased into his parking spot.

Given all the years he’d worked for Blake at The Club, first as a bouncer, then a Dungeon Master, and now as a Club manager, Donnie figured he’d seen and done pretty much everything. But somehow even the most vaguely suggestive reference to Blake’s much-younger wife Elena, a woman Donnie had come to think of as his adopted older sister, made him squirm and quickly switch the subject.

“So, are we still meeting tomorrow afternoon? Second floor construction is done, but I want to walk you through the third floor before I give the general contractor the final sign-off.”

Blake hummed a negative. “Tomorrow’s not good. Slay’s got shit to do, and I want him and Matt to be there for this meet. I was down there a couple weeks ago, but the other guys haven’t seen the place since we opened on New Year’s Eve.”

Alexander Slater and Matteo Angelico, both well-respected and experienced dominants who had worked with Blake for years, had bought into The Club a few years ago, just before the opening of the third location, The Club North. Though the transition from sole proprietor to partner had been a bit tricky for Blake in the beginning, Donnie personally felt that Blake was happier now that he could devote more time to Elena and their kids.

“I want them to see how much you’ve accomplished,” Blake continued. “You should be proud.”

Donnie cleared his throat. He wasn’t shy. He knew he’d worked his ass off, and he was confident he’d done a good job, but he had no idea how to handle Blake’s praise. He never had.

“No big, boss,” he muttered.

“No big?” Blake echoed. “That building was ready to be condemned six months ago, Donnie. And honest to God, for a second there, I wondered if we’d bitten off more than we could chew, but you turned it around. In two months, you had all construction on the first floor completed six weeks ahead of schedule, you had over a hundred members lined up before opening night, and now you have us open four nights a week, when we’d only planned to be open three until mid-summer.”

“I had help,” Donnie argued, feeling the tension in his neck ratchet up a notch.

“Yup. An almost-entirely new team that you hired, vetted, and trained. Your staff is pretty damn impressive too.”

Donnie wanted to dispute this, but he was too caught up on Blake’s last words.

His staff. God, wasn’t that a fucking kick? Donnie Nolan, the perpetual fuckup who would’ve won “Most Likely to Serve Hard Time” if he’d bothered sticking with high school long enough to see his senior year, had big responsibilities these days and a fucking staff of men and women who reported to him.

And it was all thanks to the guy on the other end of the phone, who’d somehow seen a spark of potential in a punk-assed, muscle-bound delinquent who was never supposed to amount to anything. Words, never Donnie’s strong suit, failed him just then, but he vowed to himself that he’d never give Blake a reason to regret taking a chance on him.

Blake smoothly covered Donnie’s lapse. “So, I’m thinking we’ll meet the day after tomorrow. Wednesday afternoon or evening. I’ll let you know once I confirm with Slay and Matt, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sounds good. See you then,” Donnie agreed, before disconnecting the call and finally shutting off his bike.

The sounds of traffic from Harbor Road seemed even louder after Donnie removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. It was fully dark now, and as he crossed the parking lot and opened the back door, he made a note to himself that they needed to bump up the lighting in this lot ASAP. It was entirely too dark out here for his peace of mind.

He climbed the short flight of stairs to the main floor, where one of the bouncers would normally be stationed on an open night, unzipping his leather riding jacket as he went. Tonight, the lights were low and the rooms on this level—a large bar, a dance floor, and three demonstration rooms—were deserted. All the construction workers had gone home hours ago, and none of the staff were scheduled.

He debated a detour to the stockroom, to make sure Andy had received and organized the liquor delivery properly, but the lure of his own space, the third-floor suite Blake had insisted he remodel before any of the other rooms, was too strong. Shower, hydrate, bed, in that order.

He’d just put his foot on the first step to the second floor when a creak above alerted him that he wasn’t alone.

Instinctive caution, born of years spent under the thumbs of first his alcoholic asshole father and then his psycho cousin Mikey, had him looking around for a weapon. He placed his helmet on the table near the main entrance and dipped his hand into his pocket, threading his keys through his fingers. He climbed the stairs quickly and quietly, keeping his feet on the thick carpet runner that ran down the middle of the treads. The Club hadn’t had any trouble with security at any of its locations in a long while; not since drug kingpin Chalo Salazar had been given a two-year prison stint and managed to win himself an extra year for bad behavior, and Donnie didn’t anticipate any trouble now, but it was always better to be prepared.

“Master Nolan? Sir? Is that you?”

The plaintive whine had him stopping in his tracks three steps from the top. Oh, Christ. Suddenly, he was almost wishing for one of Salazar’s goons to appear.

“Julie. You’re here late.” He made his voice as distant as possible as he shuffled up the last three steps, dropping his keys back in his pocket.

The petite brunette stood in the middle of the second-floor foyer, biting her bottom lip nervously, her eyes cast to the floor. She wore a short black dress that clung to her curves like a second skin and some strappy, death-defying heels—the kind of thing that the girls normally wore when they were off-duty, and at The Club to play or to participate in a demonstration.

“Yeah. I, um… I just finished up,” she said, waving behind her in the general direction of the office, which was located at the front of the building, directly above the main entrance.

Donnie pursed his lips at this outright lie. Julie was a waitress and bartender who worked (and played) almost exclusively downstairs. There was no reason for her to be hanging around the office at all. Still, he hesitated to call her out on it. He was pretty sure her real reason for being there had to do with seeing him, and the hopeful glances she was sneaking him from under her lashes only confirmed it.

He’d first noticed a change in her behavior a few weeks back, not long after she’d volunteered to participate in a Shibari demonstration with him. From his perspective, it had been a purely professional thing. Though he’d had to touch her quite a bit as he demonstrated the correct roping and knotting procedures, he’d remained as aloof and clinical as possible; his usual MO during demos. But despite his precautions, she’d somehow gotten the wrong idea. She’d started popping up wherever he was, calling him Sir in a breathy voice, and giving him shy smiles that seemed calculated to entice any dominant who was in the market for a long-term submissive.

Unfortunately for her, Donnie was in the market to rent rather than to own. All of his relationships could be better measured in hours than in years. But even if he had been looking for something more permanent, even if he weren’t her boss, Julie just wasn’t his type.

Donnie frowned and tried to put his finger on what bugged him about the girl. She was pretty enough, for sure, with long brown hair, brown eyes, and the petite, curvy figure he’d always enjoyed on a woman. But there seemed to be something hiding behind her eyes—a sort of calculation, like she was trying to project the image of the type of sub she thought he wanted.

Maybe some guys got off on the whole “I’ll be whatever you need me to be!” vibe, but Donnie wasn’t one of them. Christ, if there was one thing that he hated about the BDSM scene these days, it was the drama, the over-the-top fantasy that so many people seemed to be looking for. He knew that real dominant/submissive relationships, like the kinds that his friends Matteo, Slay, Dom, Tony, and Paul had with their partners required work and compromise, and he’d seen firsthand what it had taken for Blake and Elena to negotiate their rocky start.

Step one was to be honest with yourself and your partner about what you needed. If you weren’t ready and willing to do that—and God knew, Donnie wasn’t fucking ready to share his deepest, darkest desires with anyone—you had no business getting involved in anything complicated.

That was why, if Julie kept up with this shit, Donnie was gonna have to figure out how to say “No fucking way” in a diplomatic manner that spared her feelings, while leaving no doubt that they would never have an association beyond a professional one.

Words, diplomacy, feelings.


He’d rather beat the shit out of something any day.

There had only ever been one woman he could talk to without restraint, without the words getting twisted halfway between his brain and his tongue. Grace.

Jesus, Nolan, he chastised himself. Resurrecting ghosts twice in one night? Focus.

“So, um, have you eaten? Dinner, I mean?” Julie asked nervously, when it became clear that Donnie wasn’t going to pick up the conversation.

“Yep,” he confirmed. “A while ago. I’m getting ready to turn in.”

He folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to take the hint.

She didn’t.

“Would you maybe want to, you know, hang out?” she persisted. “I noticed that you hardly ever stop by the playrooms unless you’re giving a demo. We could maybe practice the cane thing you’re doing tomorrow night?”

Donnie sighed. No way to avoid it. He ran a hand through his chin-length blond hair and dove in.

“Think you got the wrong idea,” he said stiffly. “We ain’t gonna hang out. I’m your boss.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But, um, is there a rule against employees hanging out? Because I heard through the grapevine that Slay was Alice’s manager and they, um… you know.”

Donnie suppressed a growl. How much clearer could he be? Yeah, everyone knew the story of how Slay had met and fallen hard for his wife, Allie, back when she’d worked the main bar at The Club, but that didn’t fucking matter.

“I’m not Slay,” Donnie said flatly. “I don’t get involved with my employees.”

“Oh,” Julie said again. She looked momentarily crestfallen, but then rallied and took a step closer to him. “Because I wouldn’t tell anyone…”

“Not the point,” he said, his low voice brooking no argument. “I need you to keep your behavior professional, or there will be consequences, up to and including termination.”

“T-termination?” she stammered, licking her lips nervously. “No! I can do professional. I, uh… I understand. I love this job. I need this job, Master Nolan.”

Donnie nodded and felt a faint stirring of pity. He knew what that felt like.

“Good,” he told her. “I’m relieved to hear that.” And then, something compelled him to add, “Listen, Julie, lots of the girls here, and at The Club Boston seem… nice. Friendly. If you need someone to talk to…”

Julie bit her lip and Donnie trailed off as someone started pounding on the door below.

What now?

He saw Julie’s eyes flash in surprise, and as he hurried down the stairs, she followed.

The banging had increased in volume and tempo by the time he made it to the first floor, and was accompanied by a man shouting in garbled English.

“Don! Open up, man! Oh, fuck, Donnie! Open the damn door!”

“Stand back,” he clipped at Julie, who nodded with wide eyes before moving around the corner into one of the demo rooms.

Once she was out of sight, Donnie unlocked the door and threw it open… only to have the guy who’d been shouting fall directly at Donnie’s feet.

The man pushed himself to his hands and knees on the hardwood floor and glanced up. Donnie automatically stepped back into a defensive position, reaching for the stupid keys in his pocket and wishing, not for the first time, that he hadn’t stopped carrying his Glock when he’d left his cousin’s employ. The dude’s face was a bloody mess. His nose was unmistakably broken, his mouth distorted, one dark eye swollen shut, and his clothes, which seemed to have started out as a high-end suit and silk shirt, were shredded, not like they’d been ripped or worn out, but…

Oh, motherfucker.


The man had been beaten and sliced, right through the fabric of his clothing, into his skin in dozens and dozens of places all over his body. With no more than a cursory glance, Donnie knew they were shallow wounds—bruises delivered by hand and cuts from a straight razor, precisely calibrated to scare, to scar, to hurt, but not to kill. And he knew, just as well as he knew the brown eyes he saw in the mirror each morning, that this poor fuck-up had been forced to count the strikes himself while a bunch of neighborhood punks who desperately wanted to be badasses had held him down by his hands and ankles. There would be one blow or cut for each thousand the guy owed. A gruesome, permanent accounting of his debt because that was the kind of twisted justice that Mikey Nolan found amusing.

Donnie ground his teeth together. His cousin had worked this guy over thoroughly, and Donnie couldn’t help but feel bad for the sap. But it had been years—God, more than a decade—since he’d had anything to do with Mikey’s shit. So why the fuck was this guy here? And how did he know Donnie’s name?

Donnie felt a sense of foreboding settle in his gut.

“Donnie,” the man pleaded, tears and blood making tracks across his skin. “Help me!”

Donnie narrowed his eyes and looked closer, beyond the bloody wreckage of his face, trying to place the connection. There was something… But it wasn’t until the man let his head fall forward with a sob, until a thick hank of dark brown hair fell across his forehead and obscured his swollen eye, that Donnie felt the flare of recognition. He knew that hair. He remembered eyes just like that…

“Christ. Pedro? Is that you?”


Caillate, Gracia Maria! You’re not coming with us. Not today. And stop whining.” Donnie’s best friend propped his foot on the built-in seat of the scarred wooden picnic table and combed his fingers carefully through his mop of brown hair, his eyes trained on his reflection in the darkened window of Sully’s Grab ‘n Go next door.

“But why?” A little girl, whose dark, serious brown eyes took up nearly half her face, perched on the edge of the wooden table top, her short legs kicking back and forth. In truth, the girl never whined, but she also never gave in without a good reason. A fact which drove her brother crazy but made Donnie laugh.

“Because you’re too little, mija.”

“Little! I’m eleven! And I can help. I can carry things. I notice things! It’s not fair you guys get go places and have fun without me.”

“Donnie and I are seventeen. We’re men now. We’re gonna be working for Mikey, for God’s sake. You’ve gotta stop following us around like a puppy. It’s weird.”

The impatient, superior big-brother tone made Grace’s eyes narrow, and Donnie stepped in as he always did, pushing himself out of his slouch against the building and searching for the words that would make her understand.

“Gracie, there are different ways to be helpful. The place we’re going today, the guys we’re gonna meet… it might be dangerous.”

The full force of those shining eyes—eyes glowing with hero worship, and more excited than anxious at the prospect of adventure—swung toward him, and he found himself momentarily stunned. All he could think was, “Holy shit. Someday she’s gonna fucking OWN a man with those eyes. She’ll break hearts.” And he’d felt a quick, confusing clench of anger in his gut at the prospect of Grace ever bestowing that look on anyone but him.

“So what if it is?” Grace challenged. “You’ll protect me. You said you’d always protect me.”

Donnie nodded, because yeah, of course he would.

“But that’s why you can’t be there. The two of us would be distracted, worrying about you.”

He could see the lightning-quick calculation behind those eyes, and knew she’d reached the right conclusion when her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“When you give an intelligent explanation like that, I can’t really argue,” she sighed.

Intelligent explanation? Him? A weird, warm feeling curled in his chest, and Donnie absently tried to rub it away.

His friend hooted. “Right, Don’s Mr. Intelligent. So smart he didn’t need school no more.”

Donnie flipped him off behind the girl’s back.

“Maybe while we’re gone you could work on your drawing? I keep asking you to do a sketch of me,” Donnie teased her.

Her cheeks flooded with color and she shook her head. “No way.”

Her brother snorted, not looking away from his reflection. “Oh, bro, consider yourself lucky. She sucks. She did a picture of me the other night. Made me look like a fucking donkey, with this big, stupid smile.”

Grace’s eyes met Donnie’s, and she grinned. Donnie didn’t know shit about art, but he knew enough about Grace’s talent to be sure that if she’d drawn her brother like that, it was totally intentional. Donnie smirked.

“Time to get back inside the house, Gracia,” her brother said, turning away from the window. “We’ve gotta go, and if Papa catches you out here alone…”

Donnie frowned. They were in the Diaz family’s own backyard, but even so, Grace wasn’t supposed to be outside unsupervised. The nuns at St. Bridget’s had fewer rules and restrictions than Mr. Diaz did for his only daughter.

Grace sighed and jumped down from the table, looking so lonely and dejected that Donnie jammed his hands in his pockets and looked away before he did something stupid, like try to give the kid a hug.

But Grace had never let him off the hook that easily. She threw her arms around his waist and squeezed, pressing her cheek against his chest for the briefest of moments. The smell of her—the faint tang of cinnamon chewing gum that he always associated with his Grace—filled his nose.

“Come back safe, okay, Donnie?” she asked, turning those bright, solemn eyes up at him, and he was helpless to do anything but nod. Then, after a quick glance at her impatient brother, she turned back to Donnie, rolling her eyes as she pulled away. “And take care of Pedro.”


He’d pictured Pedro the way he’d always looked—perfectly mussed hair, round-cheeked baby face, laughing brown eyes, as tall and wiry as Donnie had been at eighteen. But in the intervening years, Donnie had grown, gaining several inches in height and at least forty pounds of solid muscle. Whereas Pedro, Donnie saw, as he helped the man unsteadily to his feet, seemed to have shrunk. He was skin and bones beneath his fine clothing, his shoulders were stooped, and he flinched when Donnie wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him into the bar area.

Donnie hadn’t seen Pedro Diaz in nearly a dozen years. Last Donnie had heard, Pedro had been middle management in Mikey’s “organization,” which was the highest rank Pedro was ever likely to attain, given that he wasn’t blood family. He’d assumed the guy was doing well—as well as a man who’d chosen to sell his soul could be—but even though Donnie lived minutes away from the old neighborhood, he’d made a point never to go back and check on them. He’d only set foot there once in the past decade. That was Mikey’s neighborhood, and always had been. It was safer for everyone who lived there if they weren’t associated with Donnie, the cousin who’d disgraced the family by walking away, and it was crucial to Donnie’s survival to forget they existed.

Didn’t mean Donnie hadn’t thought about his friends over the years, though. He’d imagined P getting married, maybe to one of Donnie’s own cousins. More than once, he’d forced himself to confront the fact that Grace was likely married now too, and he hoped the lucky fucker deserved her. He’d read in the paper that Mr. Diaz had died a few years back, and he’d grieved for Pedro and Grace. And right now, as he looked at the pathetic battered man, he could hear the echo of Grace’s voice in his head, telling him to take care of Pedro. So, whatever bullshit Pedro was involved in, however he’d incurred Mikey’s wrath, Donnie couldn’t bring himself to turn his former friend away.

“Sit here,” he said, heaving Pedro onto one of the wooden barstools. “Calm yourself. What do you need, man? Hospital?”

“No!” Pedro gasped, leaning heavily against the bar. “No hospital. No cops.”

Donnie nodded, not surprised. He ducked beneath the pass-through, collecting ice in a clean towel and opening the first aid kit they always kept on hand beneath the bar, before turning to assess the damage.

The lacerations on Pedro’s body would heal with time and some antibiotic goop. Ice would help control the swelling on his face, and it didn’t look like he needed stitches. The greatest threat to his health right now was in failing to pay back whatever debt he’d managed to accrue.

“Here,” Donnie said, holding out the makeshift ice pack, while he wet a second towel under the tap.

Pedro took the ice and gingerly held it to his swollen eye. “Don, I need your help,” he said, attempting to draw a deep breath against ribs that were probably bruised, trying to control the tears streaming down his broken face.

“Yeah. So you said,” Donnie agreed, cutting under the pass-through once more. “But, bro, if you managed to cross Mikey somehow… I don’t know how you think I can help you.”

He approached the other man and braced one hand against his back while grasping his nose with the other. He waited until Pedro gave the barest nod of assent, then set Pedro’s broken nose back into place with one deft movement and secured it with strips of sterile tape from the kit.

Pedro barely flinched. “Still got the touch with that, huh? Must be, what, the third time you’ve done that for me?” he asked, his voice thick with pain.

Donnie nodded. “Don’t get much practice anymore,” he said. And he hadn’t missed it.

He wiped his hands off on the towel and took the stool next to Pedro before continuing.

“You know better than anyone that I dragged myself out of Mikey’s shit, kicking and screaming. If I get involved again, it’ll be a death sentence. We’ve been through a lot, man, so if you need a place to spend a couple nights, you’ve got it. And if you need some cash—and by that I mean a couple of thousand, enough to get you out of town, not enough for… this,” he looked pointedly at the dozens of small cuts up and down Pedro’s torso, which had to sting like a sonofabitch. “I’ll get it for you. But, P…” He deliberately let his voice go lower, firmer, so there would be no confusion on this score. “There is not a single thing in Heaven or on Earth that will get me involved with Mikey again.”

Pedro’s eyes, stark with shock and misery, met his.

“They’ve got Grace, man. They’re holding her… until I pay my debts.”

And Donnie’s world turned red.


“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Donnie muttered, as the phone rang inside his helmet. He was weaving the Valkyrie through the light city traffic in a remarkable impression of the douchebag on the Harley from earlier, and he couldn’t care less. He’d been hyper-focused since the moment P had spoken his sister’s name, and not a fucking thing existed but Grace and his need to get to her.


He’d barked orders like a sergeant, clearing away obstacles. He’d called in a favor from Lucas, a guy who worked with Slay doing what they called “off-the-books security jobs,” which seemed to run the gamut from global terrorism prevention to rescuing kittens from trees, and had found someone who could patch Pedro up and give him a place to crash until he’d healed. He’d gotten Julie, who had still been cowering in the demonstration room, out to her fucking car, and out of his hair. And he’d grabbed the wickedly sharp Ka-Bar knife from the box on the top shelf of his closet just in case. Its weight against his thigh felt comforting.

The one obstacle he hadn’t been able to surmount was finding out where Grace was being held… and how the hell he’d get her back.

“I fucked up, Donnie,” Pedro had admitted. “Moving money, making book, it got old. And I got greedy. I wanted to grab some money—enough to last me a good, long while—and get the fuck out. New guy started cutting into our territory, a young kid named Javi. I never got a handle on who he was working for, but shit started getting chaotic. I thought I could take advantage of it. I lied and told Mikey that Javi had stolen our money…but Mikey found out. I gave him back the money I stole, every penny of the 750 large. But he says he wants me to pay him back double, to atone for my sins or… forfeit Grace.”

Typical Mikey, handing out penance, knowing full well that there was no way for a man like Pedro to come up with three-quarters of a million dollars.

“How’s Grace gonna get him the money?” Donnie had asked.

Pedro had looked at him in disbelief, as if shocked that Donnie was so far gone from his years in Mikey’s shit that he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

And then he had, and his blood had grown cold. “Sex?”

Pedro had nodded. “Far as I know, Grace’s still a virgin, Don. I don’t know if she’s saving herself for marriage to Prince Charming, or if she just drank too much of the good-girl KoolAid that my dad passed out, but I’ve never seen her with a guy. She’s never even dated. And if Mikey has his way, her first time is gonna be sold to the highest bidder and broadcast online.”

Over Donnie’s dead body.

The ringing in his headset finally stopped and a slurred voice answered. “H’lo?”


Just one word, just the man’s name, but it was enough to get his older brother from happy drunk to allll worked up.

“I can’t talk to you! What the fuck are you doing calling me, Donnie? You’re dead to us, remember. Jesus, I have kids.

Funny how Donnie had been very much alive last year, when Joe’s son Declan had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer and needed a bone marrow donor, wasn’t it?

“I’m coming to the house,” he said simply.

“No, Don! Fuck. Just… No. Meet me somewhere else,” his brother begged. “A bar… or…”

“Better open the door,” Donnie said. “The longer I stand outside banging, the more the neighbors are gonna get an eyeful. And we wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression, would we, Joey?”

“You’re killin’ me, man,” Joe whined.

Donnie snorted and disengaged the call. Killing his brother was just the beginning. If those assholes harmed Grace, no one would be safe.


When he arrived at his brother’s house a few minutes later, he pulled his bike around to the back, near the rickety old garage, and left his helmet on the seat. He climbed the rear steps two at a time, and the back door opened before he could knock.

“Get in here!” Joe told him, pulling Donnie into the kitchen and making sure none of the neighbors had seen. “Christ, you have no idea, Don…”

His brother was tall and whip-thin, with thinning, sandy hair that had once been bright red. There had been a time, when Don was a kid, that he’d thought Joe was the bravest of the brave, always looking out for Donnie, protecting him from the worst of his father’s booze-soaked beatings.

Now, Joe’s hands shook with fear.

“Let’s get this over with,” Donnie said without preamble. “Mikey took Grace Diaz to pay Pedro’s debt.”

Joe didn’t look surprised, but somehow he seemed to grow even more nervous.

“What do you know about that, Joe?” Donnie asked.

Joe licked his lips, but instead of answering, he turned pleading eyes to Don. “Why’d you have to get involved now, Donnie? You haven’t been back to this neighborhood in years. Why now, huh? Why not just… stay gone?”

A fair question. He hadn’t seen Grace Diaz in nearly twelve years; not since he’d been nineteen and she’d been a wide-eyed thirteen-year-old. For all he knew, he’d passed her a hundred times at the grocery store or riding the subway, and hadn’t even known. Would he even recognize her as a woman?

It didn’t matter, though. Grace was the best part of him—his conscience, his beating heart. The only part of his childhood that he could remember without feeling disgust or shame. Just subconsciously knowing that she was okay, that she still existed in the world, had meant that he could keep existing too.

But Joe didn’t need to know any of that shit.

“You owe me, Joe.”

He hadn’t wanted to say those words. You didn’t hold a kid’s life over his father’s head. That wasn’t a debt you ever called in…

But for Grace, he was calling it.

Joe shook his head and drew a shaky breath. “I need a drink. Have a seat. We’ve got… shit to discuss.” Joe gestured his hand at the Formica table in the corner, then sat down and poured himself three fingers of Irish.

Jameson’s. Just like their dad had drunk.

Donnie took a seat at the table and glanced around the kitchen. The only time he’d been here, a year ago, Joe’s wife Karen had had a pot roast in the oven, and the whole place had smelled homey and inviting. Their three kids had been running around, bouncing off the walls, even Declan. But tonight, the house was… quiet. Stale.

No car in the driveway. No kids making noise.

Suspicion clenched in Donnie’s gut and he got up to open the refrigerator. Joe sighed, but didn’t move to stop him.

Empty, except for a pitcher of water and a bunch of condiments in the door. It looked like Karen and the kids had taken off… or Joe had sent them away.


“Where is she, Joe?” he demanded.

“I… I’m not saying shit,” Joe replied. But his eyes darted left, to the small bedroom off the kitchen.

Christ Jesus, she was here.

Donnie strode across the room, his eyes on his brother, but Joe didn’t move except to pour the whiskey down his throat and pour himself another.

“I didn’t wanna be mixed up in this shit, Don. You know how Mikey is,” Joe whined.

Yeah, Donnie knew. That’s why he’d walked away years ago rather than spend his life as Mikey’s lackey. Joe had chosen differently.

Donnie turned the knob, but the door was locked. He ran his hand above the door jamb, rolling his eyes at his brother’s stupidity when he found the fucking skeleton key on the first try. To Joe’s credit, he clearly hadn’t been trying very hard. It was almost like he’d wanted someone to find Grace.

He pushed the door open, and entered the cool, dark room.

The room was empty except for a twin bed in the corner, where a woman lay curled on her side away from him, covered by a thin blanket. He crept toward the bed slowly, his mind rapidly cycling through the best ways of transporting her. Was she drugged? How could he wake her?

Long, long, strands of familiar dark hair covered her face and he reached out a hand to push them aside, but he actually found himself hesitating. God, what did she look like now?

The hesitation was nearly his downfall.

The woman on the bed, who had been breathing so deeply just a moment ago, leapt into action, grabbing his wrist and yanking him down, then delivering a powerful knee to his gut, before lunging upright and delivering a sharp blow to the back of his head that made him see stars.

Only instinct had him reaching out, ducking her flailing fists, to grab her around the waist and pull her back on the bed.

“Let go of me, asshole!” the woman screamed as she thrashed and flailed. “Or I swear to God, I will extract your motherfucking dick through your motherfucking nose!”


Without wasting another moment, Donnie lifted one knee and straddled her on the bed, sitting across her thighs to neutralize her legs. He grabbed her hands in each of his and bore down, until her arms were braced above her head, and still she would not yield.

“Let. Me. Go!” She reared up, trying to knock her head into his.

Christ, she was amazing. Every twist of her head against the pillow had him smelling cinnamon, and every flex of her muscles reminded him that she was here. She was okay.

A weight on his chest he hadn’t realized he was carrying seemed to loosen.

“Grace,” he said. “Grace, baby, it’s me.”

Her thrashing stopped, and only the sound of harsh breathing—hers and his—filled the room.

“D-donnie?” Her voice was small, tentative.

“Yeah,” he said.

He cautiously released one of her hands and brushed the hair back from her face.

His breath stuttered.

The only light in the room came from the streetlight shining in the window, but as her gorgeous eyes came into view, he wondered how he could ever have doubted that he’d recognize her. He’d know those eyes anywhere. But the rest of her…

The last time he’d seen Grace, she’d been on the edge of womanhood. She’d lost the sweet, rounded look she’d had as a little girl, but she’d still been stick-skinny, all knobby knees and braces. But now…

He swallowed hard.

She was all curves, from the pleasantly rounded hips and thighs between his knees, to the sweet, full curve of her breasts as her chest heaved under his. And damn if, all spread out on top of her like this, his dick hadn’t taken notice. Time seemed suspended as he returned his gaze to her face, to those full lips that parted and begged to be kissed, to be bitten hard. He could imagine himself wrapping that hair around his wrist, and holding her down as he fucked her until she screamed…

She was staring up at him the way she always had, with full-on trust, like he’d hung the moon… and suddenly he felt like the sickest prick on the planet.

Control yourself. This is Grace.

“Get her out of here,” Joe said from the doorway, resignation in his voice. “I told you I’d help you, but we need to figure out a plan.”

Donnie nodded without turning his head, and heard Joe shuffle away.

“If I let you go, are you gonna extract my motherfucking dick through my motherfucking nose?” he asked, unable to look away from her face.

She giggled, and then her eyes filled with tears. For all her tough talk, she’d been scared to death, and he knew it.

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” she whispered.

He smiled. Then he let go of her hands and eased back. But before he could stand, she stopped him with a hand on his cheek.

“I knew when you found out you’d come, Donnie. I knew you’d keep me safe.”

He closed his eyes against the warmth that seared his chest, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. That, coupled with the arousal that hadn’t completely abated, had him biting back a moan.

He’d keep her safe from Mikey, but who was gonna keep this woman safe from him?

New from Meredith O’Reilly!



Thank you so much for having me over on your blog! Today, I have a naughty snippet to share from my newly released book, His Little Captive!



“Lilly, this isn’t up for discussion. I don’t want my baby girl to get burnt while we play in the sun.”

“Fine, I’ll wear it. But you have to catch me first!”

I dashed off away from him, giggling the entire time. I was so fast, there was no way he could catch me!

Turning my head to see how far back he was, I was shocked when he was gaining on me. Increasing my speed, I pumped my legs faster, hoping he wouldn’t catch me.

“Got ya,” he said, wrapping his large muscular arms around me, stopping me in my tracks.

“You’re fast,” I giggled, enjoying the feel of having him surround me.

“You bet I am. Now that I caught my baby girl, what ever should I do with her?”

Not knowing what he meant, I yelped when his shoulder gently went into my stomach and I was heaved over his chest.

“Hey, put me down!” I screeched and pounded on his back with my tiny fists. I was afraid he was going to drop me.

“Settle down back there,” he replied, giving my exposed bottom a couple of light swats. Being in the position I was, my shorts had ridden up and the bottoms of my cheeks were poking out. The spanks didn’t hurt much at all, but they brought attention to my suddenly wet pussy. I didn’t realize how much of a turn-on it was to be over this sexy man’s shoulder as he took me off to do with me as he wanted. At least, that was the fantasy I had playing in my head.

He carried me all the way back to where he had laid a blanket on the ground. Carefully, he put me back on my feet.

“It’s time for sunscreen. If you take your top and bottoms off, I’ll spray it on you and rub it in.”

“Oh, fine, but I really hate this stuff,” I muttered, doing as he had instructed.


** now live! **

Buy Link



His Little Captive Blurb

After waking up in a room she doesn’t recognize, twenty-year-old college student Lilly Parkins discovers that she has been placed in a secret government program for adult women who would benefit from living under the care of a firm but loving daddy. For the next few months, all of her needs will be provided for so that she can experience the childhood she never had.


Having been orphaned years ago, Lilly has grown accustomed to depending only on herself, and she is none too pleased by this arrangement, but when she meets her new daddy, Charles Davidson, she cannot help being impressed by the handsome, kindhearted businessman.


Charles makes it clear that while he will never be harsh with Lilly, he will be stern if her behavior makes it necessary, and when she speaks rudely to him he bares her bottom and spanks her soundly. In spite of his strict discipline, however, Lilly delights in Charles’ care and attention, and she soon finds herself longing for him to take her in his arms and make her his. But when her time in the program comes to an end, will it mean saying goodbye to him forever?


Publisher’s Note: His Little Captive includes spankings, sexual scenes, and age play. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.


Contact Links for Meredith





Thanks for having me over to visit!


Categories J-R

“My fantasies are dark. Too dark for you.” – A Guest Visit with Jaye Peaches

We are so excited to welcome the one and only Jaye Peaches to the blog today to talk about her latest, Captivated. Jane had the privilege of reading an early version of this book a few months back, and she absolutely raved about how unique and enthralling it was! I can’t wait to read it!!

Here’s the blurb!
Waking up in an unfamiliar bed in a room she doesn’t recognize is disturbing enough, but Anna Hadley becomes truly alarmed when she looks into the mirror and sees the face of another woman staring back at her.

Her confusion intensifies when a man—who apparently believes she is his wife—suddenly knocks on the door and scolds her for spending so much time by herself in the bedroom. To top it all off, it quickly becomes clear that the man has some very specific, very old-fashioned ideas regarding the proper way a husband should deal with a disobedient bride.

In spite of everything, the threat of having her bottom bared for a sound spanking arouses Anna deeply, and even as she searches for clues that might explain what happened to her, she cannot help becoming more and more attracted to her supposed husband.

It isn’t long before she earns herself a punishment, and when he reddens her backside and then takes her hard and thoroughly she is left spent and satisfied. But knowing she could find herself back in her own body at any moment, can she dare to fall in love?

Publisher’s Note: Captivated includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

What a gripping premise!! Ready for a sexy excerpt?

“A month of getting to know you, Anna. Just you and me.”

“I’d like that,” she said softly and she traced the leather stitching with her trembling finger.

The engine purred and David settled into his seat. “Now, as I drive you home, why not relax. Lift up your skirt, take down your panties, and masturbate.”

Her head snapped around. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She stared out of the window at the traffic and pedestrians, battling the flurry of nerves his preposterous idea had concocted. “No,” she giggled half-heartedly. “This is a joke.”

“No joke.” He flicked on the radio to a jazz station. “Forget about your worries, Anna. Come for me. Go on.”

The music danced around the sports car and drowned out the noise of the street.

“Would you order Henrietta to do this?” she asked.

“No. I’m not ordering anyone. I’m asking you to do something that you need to do. Let out those frustrations.”

How the hell did he know what she wanted? Only yesterday, he thought she was somebody else. “You’re very sure of this need in me.”

“Would you like me to say it again?” The car pulled up at a junction and he turned to face her. His eyes were shining brightly and he gently drummed his fingers on the wheel.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. God, please ask me again. She wanted his dominating voice oozing into her ear and making her buzz all over.

“Anna. The skirt up, panties down, and part your legs. Fuck yourself until you come or do you want me to drive down some secluded road, drag you over my lap, and spank you?”

Whoa! If you’re ready to one-click this crazy-sexy book, you can find it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo!

Want to know more about Jaye?
I’m an author of erotic D/s romances including Amazon bestsellers. All my books contain an element of BDSM, spankings or erotic games of sensual exploration. If you desire a little thrill, something to entice, then please take the time to read one of my books. Thank you!

When not writing, I’m busy spending time with her family, enjoying music, sometimes drawing and if the weather allows, gardening.

Author Links:
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Manic Readers

Aldric is LIVE!!

Jane’s latest sci-fi is now live on Amazon! If you haven’t read Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance yet, what in the world are you waiting for? lol. Do yourself a favor and one-click Aldric and his Carina right NOW!

Want to know more about the book? Check out exciting excerpts here and here, and read the blurb below!



He is a barbarian. A savage. I came to his world as a spy… and I was caught. Alone and defenseless, my fate is in his hands. He captured me, punished me, and claimed me as his mate.

I promised myself that I would never yield, that I would resist and escape, but as he trains me to serve him I begin to wonder if one day I will gladly call him my master.

When I saw the little one in our midst, I was drawn to her beauty. She broke our laws and must pay the price, but I will let no harm come to her. She will belong to me, mine to enjoy as I please, and soon she will know the pleasure of surrendering to a warrior’s mastery of her body.

She is headstrong and defiant, but it will be my privilege and honor to tame her.

Publisher’s Note: Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Exclusive Excerpt! Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance

Welcome to Wednesday, and the WIP it up blog hop!

Today I’m sharing a lengthy excerpt from my upcoming Sci-Fi release, a very naughty, somewhat dark full-length, releasing Friday March 24th!



Freanossian spy R-482

My job as a Freanossian spy is simple: assimilate as one of the savages on the foreign planet of Avalere, and report my findings to my people. I did not plan on entering the circle of sacrifice, the center ring of women willingly giving themselves to the military leaders of Avalere. When the most barbaric leader of the lot apprehends me, I know no means of escape.

By the time he is finished with me, I am not quite sure I want to.


When I see the little one in my midst, I am drawn to her ethereal beauty. I wonder if she has the blood of the gods in her veins. Though she faces execution for breaking the most serious laws of our country, it is an easy choice to claim her as my mate, my chosen one, and spare her life. She is as willful as she is beautiful. It will not be easy to convince the headstrong woman that I am now her master, but I relish the challenge.

It is my privilege and honor to tame her.

Disclaimer: Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance is a dark, erotic work of fiction with strong BDSM elements, including the disciplining of adult women. This is a standalone novel with a happily-ever-after.


“Come here. Now.”

Her eyes widen, as she’s just realized I am not pleased with her behavior. I can see the apprehension in them. Has she earned discipline? What will I require of her next? I wait patiently until she comes to me. She rises and slowly drags her feet to me. I stand her between my legs and take her hands.

“Why the ill temper?” I ask.

She blinks, apparently surprised by the question.

“My lord?”

“You are frowning. You are obeying me by the mere letter, and your heart is uneasy. Why? Are you troubled by what you’ve discovered about Freanoss?”

She looks puzzled for a moment. I do not speak, allowing her the space to formulate her thoughts. “I am,” she says honestly. “But I do not wish to be ignorant. I would rather know the truth and accept it, than be misled.”

I nod. I like that about her. “Go on. There is more.”

Her lips are so tight they are nearly white. “My body. It infuriates me. Despite what I try to will it to do, it will respond to your commands and barbaric mannerisms. I hate it. I cannot kneel in the corner without my pulse throbbing between my legs, and I do not enjoy the loss of control. I don’t like how it growls for food. I don’t like that it is beginning to grow hair.” She makes a grimace, pausing, her voice lowering as her eyes look down as well. “And I… hate that you’ve brought me to the edge of ecstasy and just left me there. It’s frustrating.”

I barely stifle a chuckle. Perhaps denying her pleasure is more effective discipline than I initially thought.

“Is that right?” I ask, releasing her hands and lifting my fingers to her nipples, already pebbled and hardened beneath the light blue fabric of her tunic. She gasps, her eyes closing, her head rolling back as I fondle her breasts. “You dislike how your body responds, do you?” I say, my voice dropping as I draw her onto my lap, pulling her against my crotch, then lifting her legs so she straddles me, facing me. “You don’t like how your body betrays you?” I now whisper, lifting the edge of her tunic as my mouth goes to her breast, my tongue biting her nipple as I glide my thumb along her sex.

“My lord,” she says, her voice a near sob as her hands encircle me. I flick my tongue against her nipple and pump my finger inside her, spreading her juices along her nub, the tempo of my strokes increasing as I feel her body tensing, prepared to orgasm, so ready for the release.

“Do not,” I whisper in her ear. “Not until I give you leave.” I pause, my hand steadying on her sex, holding her right on the cusp. “You will obey me, and when you do, I will reward you. Do you wish to be rewarded, Carina?” I ask.

She nods. “Yes,” she moans, wriggling her hips against my hand. “Please.”

I take my hands off her and stand her in front of me. “Then you do as you’re told. Behave yourself, and I will reward you.” I nod to her chair. “And you know what happens if you misbehave.” She stares at me, agape, as if she cannot believe I have left her on the cusp of ecstasy yet again. I am unrepentant. Training her to obey me will be ultimately for her own good.

“Go,” I order sternly, pointing to her chair. She purses her lips and frowns, sitting forcefully upon the seat. She is acting like a petulant child, and crosses her arms on her chest. I raise an eyebrow but she looks away from me, picks up her cheese, and takes a large, angry bite. She lifts her drink and glares at me as she sips.

I barely stifle a chuckle. My instinct was quite correct. I let her off too easily last night, and this morning, she is practically begging me to discipline her. Perhaps she needs to feel my correction more often than I surmised.

I take a sip of my tea and watch her. I understand it’s difficult for her to adjust to the ways of Avalere. I doubt that she dislikes it here. She has only just arrived. What she is not familiar with is the complete loss of control. On Freanoss, all she knew was control—her body, her mind, and her environment were all regimented, denying her the very real human experiences she was created for. Here, it is the exact opposite.

I hear a knock on the door. She looks at me sharply as I rise. “Sit and eat,” I order….

When I return to my chamber, my mind is focused on what Arman has told me, and it takes me a minute to realize what I see. Carina, completely contrary to my orders, has finished the food on the platter. But more—she now lies in the bed, curled up on her side, her eyes closed tightly as her hand works between her legs. Anger clouds my vision. How dare she? She has deliberately disobeyed not one, but two direct commands from me.

“Is that how it is to be, then?” I ask, my voice deadly calm as I hold my temper in check. She needs a good whipping for what she’s done. That she would defy me so boldly indicates that my suspicion is right. I have been far too lenient on her. I regret having been so.

When she hears my voice, she freezes, but only for a moment as her eyes focus on mine. She stares into my eyes willfully, unrepentant for what she’s done. Slowly, she drags her fingertip along her slit, her breath beginning to come in shallow gasps. She is on the brink of orgasm, prepared to bring herself over the edge. I feel my cock harden, painfully thick, as I watch her pleasure herself. It is the darkest, most erotic thing I have ever seen. I wish to take my own cock in my hand and pump myself to ecstasy while watching her please herself. I can already imagine her groan of pleasure, the flush of her cheeks as she writhes on the bed. But no. I have a duty to perform.

“Stop.” My voice is loud and harsh. Her hand freezes between her legs, her eyes still willfully trained on mine. I cross the room to her and lift her up from the bed. She must be punished.

I place her to standing on the floor in front of me. “What did I tell you would happen if you disobeyed me?” I ask, chucking a finger under her chin, not harshly, but enough that she quickly raises her eyes to mine.

She frowns. “You’d punish me…”

My instincts were right. She needs to be disciplined. Perhaps she is craving my discipline. I know not her reasoning, but there is one thing I know beyond doubt. Today, I will not slacken from my duty. Today, I am not finished with her until she is submitted to me in all possible ways.

Due to be released Friday, March 24th. 

Interested in a review copy? Copies are limited, but as of the time of this post, still available. Sign up here.


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Upcoming scifi — sneaky, naughty peak at the Warrior King

Welcome to this week’s edition of Wip it up Wednesday! Maisy and I have several works in progress going, and today, I’m sharing an excerpt from the closest upcoming release — The Warrior King (tentative title), a book that is perhaps the most erotic story I have written yet, slated for release on March 24th!

When Freanossian occupant R-482 arrives on a spy mission to foreign planet Avalere, she is immediately entrenched in the barbaric, savage ways of the Avalerians. She accidentally finds herself in an inner circle of women who give themselves willingly to the warrior men. When she break the laws of Avalere, she is subject to the most severe consequence on Avalere – execution. The Warrior King, who is both drawn to her stunning beauty and wonders if she has the blood of the gods in her veins, pleads on her behalf, and declares himself master over her.

As she is subject to his every whim and dictate, she defies him at every turn, but finds that defiance on Avalere is met with firm consequences. When her new master publicly punishes her, she soon realizes she has only begun to learn the differences between their planets. As she becomes bonded with her new master, the manipulation of her home planet fades, and she begins to experience real human experiences for the very first time – what it is to be touched, what food tastes like, what it means to be both punished, or touched in much nicer ways. Under her stern master’s tutelage, she experiences a vivid sexual awakening

But as the reality of her mission comes to light, she must decide where her allegiance lies – to the planet she has always called home, or to her stern, barbarian master? (Inspiring pic below! Eep!)


How about an excerpt?


I will not go quietly. I will not. They can call this man King or whatever it is they’d like,but I am no servant of his. He does not own me, and now that my identity is revealed, I will fight with every ounce of strength I have. I pull, push, and twist in his grip. Though I am no weakling, but I am unable to break free. I am small, but I am strong, and I will fight. I lift my foot and stomp as hard as I can on his. The breath hisses out of him and his grip slackens, but he does not release me. It is all I need, though. With a swift move, I once again elbow him as hard as I can, and the distraction gives me room to wriggle out of his grip, one arm free. I must hide. It is imperative I get away from him. I will not be captive to this savage. With one final yank, I pull my second arm away from him.

But the moment I turn to run, a piercing pain radiates down my scalp. I howl. The bruthas me by the hair. “That is enough, woman!” he bellows. My head is yanked back, and his eyes are no longer amused or kind, but furious slits as I’m once again pinned in his iron-like grip. “You will be thoroughly chastised for your display of temper,” he hisses in my ear. “Do you wish to be punished in front of my people as well? I will save you the mortification even now, if you but apologize and beg my forgiveness. Then you will face your punishment in my chambers, rather than here.”

“You savage,” I hiss. “How dare you!”

He arches a brow. “You will not apologize, I surmise?”

I narrow my eyes at him and glare. His lips part into a wicked smile and he tilts his mouthto my ear. “This is your last chance, little one,” he says. “I am stronger than you, and you shall not win. But you will leave the presence of my people with a scrap of pride if you but do as I say. Do you wish to be punished in front of my people?”

I frown. Will he truly chastise me in such a mortifying manner? One look at his stern countenance, and I know he speaks the truth.

“I…” I begin, stuttering and faltering. I do not know what to say. He gestures for someone to bring him something. I watch, mortified, as the eyes of the crowd focus on me. A man approaches, holding a length of rope. My captor twists the rope about my wrists and pulls the length taut, frowning at me. “The proper response is, I’m sorry, Master.”

I grit my teeth and defy him with my silence. Master!

I cannot. I will not! No man is master of me. His jaw clenches. “Very well, then, little one,” he says, and to my surprise, I hear a pang of regret in his voice.

He is dragging me to what looks like a marketplace, where there are tables and chairs, barely visible in the darkness. A crowd has gathered around us, and some follow us now, as he drags me beyond the crowded area, to an area that looks like a temple of sorts. It is simple but magnificent, golden-domed and flanked with panels of ivory. But now I see where I am being brought. It is a wide-open area that looks almost like an arena of sorts. There is a large, flat platform and several wooden posts. My stomach drops. I have heard of such places, from times past. Whips, chains, and jails no longer exist on Freanoss. Criminal behavior has been carefully bred out of my people as we progress toward sameness. We’ve eradicated deviant behavior, and have no need for cruel punishment.

He barks out a few orders. Torches flame to life, quickly placed along the edges of a platform.

I begin to fear the chastisement I’ve brought upon myself.

When we reach the platform, he drags me to the furthest corner of the arena, for I do notwalk willingly. He takes my bound wrists, and pushes me up against what looks like a table. It isnarrow, like a small desk, and when he pushes me over it, my belly is flat against the surface.

With one swift move, my bound wrists are yanked, and he deftly lifts the length of rope, securing it on a peg at the opposite end of the table. I am now effectively stretched out, my arms flat in front of me, my torso flush with the surface of the table. The position I hold makes the small tunic I wear rise, and I am no longer covered. To my shame, I feel the cool night air across my backside and lower back. I am mortified, tears threatening to fall. As he adjusts my restraints, I cannot help but whisper, “Please. Don’t.”

Look for The Warrior King on March 24th!

Curious to read more excerpts of this upcoming release? You can read two more here:

Excerpt 1

Excerpt 2

Follow the link below to take a peak at other WIP it up snippets!


His Lady Countdown – #wipwednesday

Happy Wednesday, everyone, and welcome to the WIP! Today we’re sharing a snippet from our upcoming release His Lady (Boston Doms, Book 5), which is coming THIS FRIDAY 2/24!!


“You taste like honey and butter,” Blake said, his low voice in her ear causing her nipples to harden. She was straddling his lap on the leather couch in his living room, having just polished off the last bite of baklava, and they were celebrating the evening alone.

“You taste like masculinity and sex,” she countered, running her fingers around the back of his neck and drawing his mouth closer to hers, as he growled in her throat and tightened his grip on her ass. “I fucking love it.”

“You swear like a goddamned truck driver,” he bit out, leaning his mouth closer to ear and taking her lobe into his mouth with his teeth.

“No shit,” she responded, pulling back and meeting his eyes. “What are you gonna do about it, old man?”

“Naughty little brat,” he growled, and she shrieked as his hands went to her top, yanking it up, nimbly unfastening her bra, before his hands found her nipples and squeezed. “You really don’t want to test me, Elena,” he said, sobering, his voice dropping as his eyes narrowed. He twisted his hands, and she braced herself. The sharp bite of pain faded to a tingle. “You’ll do as you’re told, little girl,” he said, his smoky voice like whisky on ice, brisk but biting. “I’m not shittin’ around with your safety. And there’s a limit to how far you can push me, Elena. I don’t expect meek and mousy from you. No, baby, that isn’t you, and I get that,” he said, his hands kneading her breasts now, as flames flickered in her nether regions, her pussy convulsing with need. Oh God.

Her mouth opened, panting, as he laced his fingers through her hair and tugged her head back, pulling her ear to his mouth. “I owe you a spanking, young lady. You endangered yourself when you disobeyed me. And because of what you did, you’ve raised suspicion by plastering your name all over the internet. I don’t give a shit who comes after me, but you’ll answer for putting yourself on their radar.”

She swallowed, her heart racing as her pussy throbbed with need, but at the same time her ass tingled at the memory of his leather on her naked skin, and his enormous hand branding her with punishing strikes.  Through the haze of arousal, she looked into his eyes. “And what if I say no?” she said, not able to help herself from pushing, testing, craving his mettle and dominance. “What if I refuse to submit?”

His eyes darkened, his brows drawing together with a startling sternness that made her shiver deliciously. “Refuse to submit?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you to submit, little girl. I told you you were getting a spanking.”


Check back here tomorrow for more snippets, and click here to see what the other WIPsters have been working on!

What Happens in Bangkok – A guest visit with Daryl Devore

what-happens-in-bangkok_cover_d-devoreToday we’re welcoming Daryl Devore to the blog to talk about her new book, What Happens in Bangkok, which features a pretty unique cast of characters and plot premise!

Here’s the blurb:
To save Darien’s life his brother asks, “Can you walk in high heels?”

Erika Bailey, owner/manager of a drag queen club in Bangkok, Thailand has happily settled into all aspects of her new life, except for her lack of a love life. When a new diva auditions, Erika is bewildered over her instant attraction to the blond God, Apollo.

Darien Scott is on vacation after a world tour and mistakenly figures the safest place to be is at The Black Dragon with the head of a Triad. When the club is hit, Darien is the only person to get out alive. Now he’s running from the police and a Triad. Mistake number 1.

Disguised as a drag queen, he’s hired by Erika, but falls hard for his new boss, then struggles with not coming clean with her. Mistake number 2.

Can he fix his mistakes and find a life filled with love or is he headed straight for mistake number 3?

How about an excerpt?

He rolled his neck and shoulders as the heat worked its way into the tension. Again with the pity-party. Hmph, must be the wine talking.

A soft pop in his neck signaled the release of some tension. Wine talking? Could I have misinterpreted what Erika meant about the wine?

A spark of hope surged up from the depth that Darien had shoved it, but was immediately crushed. He slapped his hand on the wall. Stop being so stupid. She’s not interested in anything long term. You are so off your game. Tired from the tour, then the stress of the shooting. Have a few laughs, then go home and get back to being Darien Scott.

With his head tilted upward, the rain-like steam trickled over his face and dribbled down his back. But it would’ve been nice. Her kisses ― what the…

The pressure of two lips against his bare upper arm snapped him from his thoughts. He lowered his face, swiped at the water, then opened his eyes.

No, he hadn’t imagined the kiss. Standing next to him was Erika, fully clothed. An unverbalized hope had materialized beside him. She smiled as he turned to face her. A mixture of thoughts and questions shot through his mind. She silenced them all with the soft pressure of her finger on his lips.

Darien stretched out his hand to cup her cheek, but she slipped back out of his reach. She lifted her arms and dragged her fingers through her short hair, released her head and shook it. Droplets splashed against the wall. She moved forward a step so that the water spraying out splashed against her breasts and belly. Her blouse stuck to her like a second skin.

The vision of his peeling her blouse off and exposing her breasts brought his cock to attention. She lowered her gaze, running her tongue over her top lip. Darien swallowed–hard.

She pulled her fingers from behind her neck, trickled the back of them down her cheeks to her chest, then paused. Extending a finger, she toyed with the top button of her blouse.

Darien’s focus locked on to even the tiniest movement. The flutter of an eyelid hit him deep in his belly. Erika spun away from him, shifting to peer over her shoulder. She matched his gaze and didn’t blink. Water streamed down her cheeks, dripping off the end of her nose. Jealousy burned in Darien that the water could touch her and he knew he wouldn’t be allowed. She planned on driving him crazy and he was willing to let her.

With the fluid grace of a dancer, Erika extended her arms, reached behind and tugged her blouse out of her waistband. She moved her hands before her. Although Darien couldn’t see, he knew she’d undone the top button of her blouse. She opened the collar, exposing a bit of neck, then released another button, pulling the top of the blouse open a bit more. The fourth time, Darien had to clench his hands to stop from storming over, grabbing her blouse and ripping it open.

He wanted to–craved–to see her naked. Sprawled out beneath him. But he’d wait. The anticipation was sublime.

You can buy What Happens in Bangkok at:
Extasy Books
Book Strand

Want to connect with Daryl?
Blog – http://daryldevore.blogspot.com
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Google+ – https://plus.google.com/u/0/107866370365154406917
GoodReads Author Page – http://www.goodreads.com/DarylDevore
Amazon Author Page – http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004TJ1354
LinkedIn – ca.linkedin.com/pub/daryl-devore/58/b42/792/
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His Lady – #wipwednesday

Happy Wednesday, everyone! For today’s WIP Wednesday blog hop, we’ve got a sexy excerpt from His Lady (Boston Doms, Book 5) which is coming out a week from Friday, on 2/24!! Mark your calendars!


He set her on her feet beside the bed and turned to sit on the edge.


She swallowed. And then she obeyed.

Off came the sweater, inch by tantalizing inch, until the garment floated to the floor. She unhooked the skirt, which dropped quickly, puddling at her feet. And then she hesitated.

“Everything, Elena. There’s going to be nothing between us when I punish you,” he told her. “When I take you.”

She reached behind her and unhooked her lacy blue bra, then slowly drew the straps down her arms and tossed it to the floor, as well.

Shit. The sight of her naked breasts in the afternoon sunlight that seeped through the window was enough to have him momentarily forgetting his purpose. He watched as her nipples furled in the chilly air, saw her hesitate.

“Keep going,” he told her, his voice husky with arousal.

She swallowed again, then hooked her thumb into her panties and drew them down her legs.

“Come here,” he told her, when she was completely bare, pointing at the floor between his legs.

Without further instruction, she knelt on the floor between his feet and gazed up at him, nervous and eager.

“Usually, when I want to spank that ass, I will want to be the one to bare it,” he told her, threading his fingers into the hair above her ear. “Because I own it, and I like to remind both of us of that.” Her eyes burned with arousal at his words, and the sight made his fingers tighten in her hair, the need to claim her riding him hard.

“But today, Elena,” he continued, voice tight. “Today, I need you to remember that I own it because you gave it to me. Your love is a gift that came out of nowhere during the darkest time of my life, and brought me joy that I never dreamed I’d experience again.”

She bit her lip and her eyes flooded with tears that he brushed away with his thumbs. He forced himself to finish.

“You will not risk that. You will not risk yourself. You won’t even suggest it. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Then get over my knee.”

We hope you’re getting as excited as we are for Blake and Elena’s story! In the meantime,  click here to see what the other WIPsters have been working on!